Growing Into You
by Sunflowerrei
Summary: Sybbie Branson is becoming a woman and growing through her awkward puberty phase. AU FutureFic.
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone! This idea came to me recently. Ladies, I'm sure we all remember this moment in our lives.

**Chapter One**

Downton, Yorkshire, 1932

Twelve-year-old Sybbie Branson sat in a stall, staring down at the brown stain on her knickers. The stain had ragged edges and it sat in the center of her white cotton knickers.

Sybbie wasn't quite sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She twisted the ends of her brunette braid together nervously. Her belly ached and she had felt distracted all afternoon, even to the point that Miss Bunting, her favorite teacher, seemed distant, like she was lecturing to the class from the other side of a roaring river.

Sitting at her desk, Sybbie had felt something sticky and then pain in her belly and her sides. She didn't know what it was, but the stickiness convinced her that she needed the bathroom, so at the bell, she'd run for it. She hadn't quite expected…this.

Her monthly.

She sopped up the rest of the...blood...with as much toilet paper as she could, but still, she sat on the toilet, wondering what to do next.

Last year, when her breasts started growing, her Aunt Mary and Aunt Edith had perhaps sensed her needs before she did. Aunt Mary was Sybbie's godmother and the eldest sister of Sybbie's late mother. She looked stern on the outside, but to Sybbie, Aunt Mary had always been kindness personified. Mary often called Sybbie "her eldest and most sensible daughter," before pointedly looking at her three daughters.

Aunt Mary had taken Sybbie aside one afternoon up at the big house, Downton Abbey, and said without a trace of hesitation, "Darling, that dress is looking a little tight in the bodice."

Aunt Edith had been up from London that time and she had smiled in that gentle and wistful way she had and said, "Sybbie, I do believe you have, um, well, you're..."

Aunt Mary rolled her eyes and said, "What Aunt Edith means to say is that you are approaching womanhood. Is your chest growing, love?" 

Sybbie nodded, for she had noticed her chest growing. She knew it was normal; a girl had to grow womanly breasts from somewhere.

"I suppose this means your monthly will arrive shortly," Aunt Mary had said. Then Aunt Edith had told her all about it.

"It's a bit disturbing at first, my dear," Aunt Edith said. "And sometimes, your belly or your back will cramp and ache and you'll feel quite cross. But it is what makes you a woman and what makes you able to have babies, someday. When you're married."

"So, because she bleeds every month," Sybbie had said slowly, trying to assimilate this new information. "Because she bleeds every month, Aunt Mary has babies?"

Aunt Edith gave a little smile. "There's more to it than that, but yes, in order to have babies, a woman must menstruate."

"What do you mean, 'there's more to it'?"

"All right, Chatterbox," Aunt Edith said.

Aunt Edith said this thing made her a woman. Sybbie did not want to be a woman just yet. So she stayed in the stall, frozen, and a bit frightened.

# # #

The school bell at Downton Village School rang at precisely three in the afternoon and the formerly peaceful roads of the small village were soon overrun with children hurrying home.

Miss Sarah Bunting, spinster and teacher of the year sixes and sevens, stood in her classroom, gathering papers and workbooks at her desk in front of the room. The girls she taught bolted at the bell. Sarah scooped all of the papers into a large bag and walked past the desks and the hooks along one wall where her students hung their coats and hats.

There was still one coat hanging on a hook. Sarah frowned. It was November and the outside was quite chilly. No one would so scatterbrained as to forget their coat on a day like this.

Sarah took the coat off the hook and examined it: black, thick woolen material, with little pearl buttons. Sybbie Branson's coat. Sarah hitched the coat over her arm and left her classroom, closing the door behind her.

Other teachers did the same, all hunched over with the weight of their bags of homework to grade.

"Hey," Sarah called to Miss Denning, who had the classroom next to hers. "Have you seen Sybbie Branson about? She left her coat."

Miss Denning shook her head. "No. She'll realize right quick that she doesn't have it though."

Sarah frowned. "It's not like her to be forgetful." She stood still for a moment, in deep thought. Hers was the last class Miss Branson had and it was also her main classroom, which is why her coat hung there. She was a conscientious young woman, serious, and inquisitive. But not forgetful.

Sarah was sure that she'd seen Sybbie bolt with her classmates. Had the girl really simply forgot her coat?

Sarah sighed. She did not want the grandchild of the local lord to catch cold because her coat was left behind.

Sarah walked toward the small teachers' lounge.

"Have you seen Sybbie Branson?" She asked another teacher.

"I saw her run to the lavatory seconds after the bell," Miss Broderick replied.

Sarah nodded and smiled, turning to the girls' lavatory. She opened the door and peered at the four stalls. Only one was closed and she saw polished black shoes.

"Sybbie Branson?" Sarah called. "You've forgotten your coat."

"Oh!" A little voice exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Miss Bunting. I—"

"Are you all right, Sybbie?" Sarah asked, hearing an odd note in the girl's voice. "Has something happened?"

A moment later, the shoes rose, the toilet flushed, and Sybil Branson emerged from the stall, biting her lip. She washed her hands, dried them, then took her coat from Sarah's arms.

But there something about her…something nervous, that worried Sarah.

"Thank you," Sybbie said, polite as ever. "Goodbye, Miss Bunting."

"Goodbye, dear," Sarah said. "Truly, nothing is wrong?"

Sybbie shook her head. "No, no. Everything is fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone! This idea came to me recently. Don't really know where from. I don't own Downton Abbey or a crystal ball.

**Chapter Two**

What did a girl do when her monthly began?

Sybbie Branson pondered this as she walked out of Downton Village School and meandered toward the home she shared with her father. Aunt Edith had told her this would happen, but Aunt Edith lived in London and wasn't up for a visit just now.

It would have to be Aunt Mary. Sybbie remembered vague mumblings of "sanitary napkins" and "slings," but she wasn't quite sure what that meant or how she was to use it. But Aunt Mary would know.

Sybbie arrived at her home, a modest detached cottage just outside the gates of the Downton Abbey estate. Once the gatehouse of the estate, Sybbie's Da had had it renovated and refurbished and they had lived there since Sybbie was six years old. It was near school, the candy shop, the Downton village library, and only a walk up the drive to the big house.

The cottage was set back from the road a little ways, with a small bit of garden in the front. It was two stories tall, of grey stone with red window shutters. Sybbie entered, calling out, "I'm home!"

Da wouldn't be home at this hour; sometimes he was, but often, he was working up at the estate. A door further down the middle corridor opened and their cook and housekeeper, Ivy, peered out.

"Oh, good afternoon, Miss Sybbie," Ivy said cheerfully. "Do you want tea and a snack?"

Sybbie hung up her coat on the rack by the door and shook her head. "No, thank you, Ivy."

Ivy nodded and went back into the kitchen.

There were four small rooms on the ground floor: the drawing room, a library behind it, where Da did his work, the kitchen, and the dining room. Sybbie ran upstairs for her room, dropped her schoolbag, and then ran down to the library, where the telephone was.

Within seconds, she was connected to Downton Abbey. A minute more, and a voice answered, "Downton Abbey. This is Mr. Barrow speaking."

"Thomas! It's Sybbie Branson!"

"Oh! Hello Miss Sybbie. What can I do for you?"

"Is Aunt Mary home?"

"Yes, Lady Mary is in the library. She just returned from a meeting in Malton. Shall I get her for you?"

Sybbie shut her eyes. She didn't want to tell Aunt Mary over the phone.

"No, no. Perhaps just tell her that I'm coming up to the house?"

"Of course. Shall I send a car down?"

"No! Don't bother!"

"Very well. But look both ways across the road and mind you be careful!"

Sybbie grinned. Thomas, the butler at Downton Abbey, was one of her favorites among the servants there. He knew her mother, had worked with her in the long, hard days of the Great War and always looked out for Sybbie as she grew up.

Sybbie left the library, told Ivy where she was going, and then debated whether she should change her knickers or not. In the end, she changed to a fresh pair, the stickiness of the blood making her stomach do a turn.

She sniffed.

Why did it smell like that?

# # #

The walk up the long drive actually felt jolly good, despite the cramping of her legs and belly. Sybbie took in great breaths of fresh air. As always, she looked for the glimpses of the house and then her heart beat harder as the house was finally revealed.

Downton Abbey, the home of the Earl of Grantham, Sybbie's grandfather, was a castle, really. The windows, the towers, with the highest tower in the center flying the standard of the Granthams; Downton Abbey was a truly aristocratic house, meant to intimidate and impress rather than welcome. Da often said that he lost his breath the first time he saw the place and though he and Sybbie lived in the house for several years, the scale of their current house was more fitting for just the two of them.

The Abbey had no shortage of residents. Grandpapa was elderly now, but he was still the Earl. Granny Cora was elegant and kind, with a soft smile and kind word for all of her grandchildren. Then there was Aunt Mary, Uncle Charles, and her family, who spent the majority of their time at the Abbey. Aunt Edith always stayed at the house on her visits to the north and Cousin Rose often came to stay, too.

Sybbie reached the front door of the mansion, which opened just as she was a few feet away. Barrow opened it, his blank expression easing slightly to greet her with a smile.

"Come in, Miss Sybbie," he said. "Lady Mary is waiting in the library with your favorite biscuits."

Sybbie smiled. "Thank you, Thomas!"

"And I believe your father is out with Mr. Blake right now."

Sybbie nodded. Good. Time to talk to Aunt Mary about girl matters, then.

The library was Sybbie and Da's mutual favorite room in the house. Books everywhere! What a dream! The large windows let in plenty of light and the fireplace was large and cozy in the wintertime. There was a small fire lit in the grate. Aunt Mary sat on one of the sofas.

"Sybbie dear!" Aunt Mary called. "Vi will be so thrilled to see you!"

Violet, Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles' youngest daughter, was only a year old and she worshipped Sybbie. Sybbie had to admit that the baby, with her easy smile and her pretty blue eyes was a gorgeous little thing. And of course, Vi being so visibly happy to see Sybbie made Sybbie love the child even more.

Sybbie sat down on the sofa beside her aunt and squirmed.

"Barrow said you wanted to see me," Aunt Mary said. "Something happen at school?"

"Well, uh, during school," Sybbie answered. "Aunt Mary, I think my..._courses_ have begun."

Aunt Mary's eyebrows rose just the slightest. "Oh, darling. Yes, you are twelve years old. That's often when it begins, though I was a bit older."

"I don't know what to do."

"Oh, well...oh! I see," Aunt Mary said, putting her tea cup down. "Here, love, let's go up to my bathroom and I'll show what you'll need to do."

Sybbie felt ever so grateful for her aunt. She followed Aunt Mary through the Great Hall to the staircase. As they did so, the front door opened and in walked Da and Uncle Charles. Oh, goodness. Would she have to tell Da that her monthly had begun? How was she going to tell him something like that?

"Oh, hello," Aunt Mary said. She walked to Uncle Charles and pecked him on the lips. "Did you have a nice meeting?"

Uncle Charles looked to Da. "Well, it wasn't a complete loss, was it, Tom?"

Da said, "Not completely. We'll sell the bulk of the autumn harvest directly to vendors. Hello Sybbie. I didn't know you were coming up this afternoon."

Aunt Mary smiled. "Why don't you two stay for dinner, then? Mama was saying yesterday how much she wanted a family dinner."

"If Sybbie can get her homework finished," Da agreed.

"I left my bag at home," Sybbie said.

"No matter. I'll fetch it," Da said.

Aunt Mary gestured to Sybbie. "Come, Sybbie. Let's go up."

"To the nursery?" Uncle Charles guessed.

Aunt Mary let Sybbie go up the stairs first, only saying, "Never you mind."

Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles' bedroom sat in the center of the right corridor on the second level. Decorated in a light, airy beige-and-cream scheme, the room was large, with a bathroom, dressing room, and a sitting room next door. Inside, Aunt Mary drew Sybbie into the bathroom and reached into a cabinet standing in the corner.

"Sit down, sweetheart," Aunt Mary said, so Sybbie sat upon the toilet. "Now, your menstrual period will only last a few days at a time, then return in a month. I suppose it feels odd and uncomfortable."

Sybbie nodded. "My belly hurts a bit."

"Yes, it would. Still, it's only your first, so I don't suppose it's bleeding much." Aunt Mary found whatever she was looking for and came to Sybbie. "To soak up the blood, a woman uses sanitary napkins." She held up such a thing, a long white pad. "Sometimes, a clean rag will do as well. But for now, we'll use the napkin."

Sybbie nodded.

"You hook the front and back to a sling, like this," Aunt Mary said, attaching the napkin to a sling which held the napkin in place. "And you wear the sling on a belt."

Sybbie nodded again, taking it all in.

"All right? Why don't you put it on and see how it feels?" Aunt Mary said, handing her the contraption. She stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

Sybbie took down her shoes and stockings and knickers, again, and put the belt on, cinching it tight, placing the napkin in its right position, then replaced her clothing. After washing her hands, Sybbie stepped out into Aunt Mary's bedroom.

"Well?"

Sybbie nodded. "It feels odd."

"It does at first, but you've at least thirty, forty more years of your monthly, Sybbie, so one grows used to it," Aunt Mary said. "It's not my favorite part of being a woman. But it is necessary..." Aunt Mary stopped and hesitated. "Your Mama would have explained it so much better than I and without cringing at all. But I have three girls to instruct about these matters soon enough, so..."

Sybbie scrunched her brow. "Aunt Edith said it's how women have babies."

"Yes, it is. The blood comes from your womb. When you aren't pregnant, the, um, well...stuff in your womb meant for a baby slip out."

The bedroom door opened. In came Uncle Charles.

"Oh," he said. "Am I interrupting something?" 

"No," Aunt Mary said, relaxing. "Sybbie, why don't we go visit Vi before your father puts you to homework?"

Sybbie nodded. She walked out of the bedroom on her way to the nursery, the same room she and her cousin George, Aunt Mary's eldest son and Grandpapa's heir, had been brought up in when they were younger.

# # #

Charles stopped Mary for a moment as she made to follow Sybbie.

"Is something the matter?" He asked. "Sybbie doesn't seem her usual self."

Mary smiled. "I think it's rather shocking and embarrassing for her."

Charles raised his brows. "Oh? Which lad kissed our Sybbie, then?"

"Nothing like that," Mary replied. "Though she looks so much like Sybil. But that's Tom's problem. No, it's a...feminine issue."

She watched her husband's face process this information, before his eyes grew a little wider.

"No."

"Oh, yes." 

Charles paled. "Oh, God. Poor Tom."

Mary laughed. "Poor Tom? Poor us, Charles! We have _three_ daughters."


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Thank you for your reviews! Introducing a few original characters in this chapter, most notably Charlotte, Ruthie, and Violet Blake, Mary and Charles' daughters.

Don't own Downton Abbey. Obviously. I also have no money, so please don't sue me.

**Chapter Three**

The nursery was sunny, with a lighter colored paint than when Sybbie had been an occupant of the room. She walked in and smiled at Annie, the nanny, a woman in her thirties who lived in the village. Annie was a widow. Aunt Mary had hired her not long after Annie's husband died in an accident in the factory he worked in, in Ripon. That was a few years ago, after Ruthie had been born.

"Hello Annie," Sybbie said.

Annie smiled. "Oh, hello, Miss Sybbie." She looked to her two young charges. "What a treat, girls, for your cousin to be here!"

Sybbie's younger cousins toddled to her. Ruthie, now a plump three-year-old, ran, while Violet, at one, walked and stumbled and fell on her bum once. Still, Vi did not cry. She reached Sybbie, fisting her skirt, and gave a wide, drool-filled smile.

"Hello, angels," Sybbie said. "How are you?"

"We good, Sybbie," Ruthie answered.

Sybbie smiled and looked about. "Where is Charlotte?"

"Charlotte is with Mama right now," Aunt Mary said. "She likes to do her homework in Mama's boudoir." Like Sybbie, Charlotte also attended Downton Village School, though she was almost always picked up from school. Aunt Mary stepped forward to her girls. "George has cricket practice after school." She patted Vi on the head. The baby reached for her mother and Aunt Mary picked her up with ease. Violet's soft curls were dark, like Aunt Mary's hair. Everyone said that Sybbie's mother had dark hair, too, but Sybbie's hair was a lighter shade of brown, like Da's.

Ruthie looked like Uncle Charles, with an easy grin, brown hair, and swift feet.

"Mama!" Ruthie said. "I was playing with my farm. Come see?"

Aunt Mary smiled. "Of course, dear. Do show Sybbie. She's an expert at playing farm." Aunt Mary winked. "Maybe she'll tell you about hurricanes."

"What that?" Ruthie asked, though she was already running to her toys. Sybbie followed more slowly and sank down onto the floor beside her cousin. The sling and napkin she wore shifted, so she moved a little, trying to discreetly adjust.

"How long of a nap did Violet take?" Aunt Mary asked.

"About an hour, Lady Mary," Annie replied.

"And raring to go," Aunt Mary said. "I'll fetch Charlotte, girls."

# # #

Carrying her baby in her arms, Mary Crawley Blake left the nursery, smiling quietly at the sight of the ever-patient Sybbie playing with the bundle of energy that was Ruth Mary Blake. That patience in her niece was a quality Mary had observed over the girl's lifetime and tried to nurture. That patience probably came from Tom, who had steadily waited for Sybil to come around to the idea of marrying him all those years ago, and now patiently ran the Downton estate. It was his hard work, Charles' insights and know-how, Mary's stubborness, and Papa's sense of duty that kept Downton solvent, even as the Crash and what they called the Depression hit Britain and other houses like theirs gave way.

Downton Abbey now was not the Downton Abbey Mary had come of age in. The estate was structured differently, the crops they grew, the livestock they raised,the property and small industries they had encouraged in the village were all different from the pastoral place Downton had been before the war.

The house was different, too. They didn't use as much of it as they once did and there were less servants. Still, Mary did not miss the grandiosity as much as she thought would.

Mary bounced Vi in her arms. Vi squealed, revealing her perfect little teeth.

Sybbie was not only Mary's only niece, but also her godchild. Mary took both titles very seriously, for her late sister's sake. She always wanted to ensure that Sybbie was having a good childhood. Now, the girl was coming upon that most awkward period of a girl's life: shedding girlhood bit by bit, becoming a woman in body if not entirely in emotions or mind quite yet. This was when a girl needed her mother the most.

Vi stuck a fist into her mouth.

"Mmm, is that tasty?" Mary asked her daughter. "Just like your father, will eat practically anything..."

She knocked on her mother's boudoir door and entered, stepping into the pink room. There had once been Roman and Greek inspired statues in this room, but those had been sold years ago when some of the house's art collection went up for sale to raise money. Which was just as well. How could one relax with Greek statues about?

Mama sat on one of the sofas, reading. Charlotte, her seven-year-old daughter, sat at the desk by the window, legs swinging in the air.

"Hello dear," Mama said.

"Mama, Tom and Sybbie will stay for dinner tonight," Mary said. "Charlotte, Sybbie is in the nursery."

Charlotte's head bopped up and she turned to face her. "Grand! I'm nearly finished. I have math equations to solve." She frowned. "I don't know if I'm doing them correctly."

"Perhaps Sybbie can help you," Mary said. Charlotte agreed and took her workbook and pencils to the nursery.

Vi crowed, making Mama smile at the child.

"I want to tell you. Sybbie's begun menstruating today," Mary said.

"Is she all right?"

"She seems fine, if a touch confused and surprised," Mary said. "I remember feeling far less calm when mine appeared." In fact, Mary remembered wondering, in a rather detached way, if she was bleeding to death. She'd been thirteen years old.

"I suppose we didn't talk about such things back then," Mama said. "I still can't believe that Sybbie is at that age already. Where did the time go?"

The women fell silent, thinking of the intervening years, the last decade, the births and deaths. Sybil, dead twelve years. Matthew, gone eleven years. Granny died five years ago and then Isobel passed away not long after, as active in her last days as she always had been. Mary had remarried seven years ago. Charlotte was now six years old and in her first year in school. Then came Ruthie, then the market in New York crashed. Uncle Harold had taken a substantial hit to his finances. A great deal of his investments had been wiped out completely.

Three years later, Mary still found herself living in Downton Abbey, ensuring its survival, determined to make sure the estate was thriving when her son George inherited.

Mary bounced the baby in her arms again, remembering when Sybbie had been small enough to cart around like this. She supposed, in another dozen years, Violet would be coming to her, whispering, "Mama, I think my monthly has begun."

Still, Sybil lived with Tom. And although Mary could not ever fathom speaking to her brother-in-law about such matters, she thought she would be the one to break the news to him.

His daughter was growing up.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone! Thank you for your reviews! I've been reading _Lady Catherine, The Earl, and the Real Downton Abbey_ by the Countess of Carnarvon; really interesting insight into what the earl and countess of Highclere Castle did to survive the 20s and 30s.

Don't own Downton Abbey. Obviously. I'm poor, so don't sue me.

**Chapter Four**

Tom walked up the grand staircase with Sybil's school bag on one of his arms. Sybbie was a good student, of which he was so proud. But he also made sure to educate her in other ways not taught in school. He wanted his daughter to understand the different social classes, to understand different philosophies and different forms of belief and different governments. If Sybbie, when she was a bit older, came to him and said that she wanted to write for radical underground magazines, Tom would be over the moon.

Tom smiled at himself. Yes, he was ambitious for his only child. In two years, Sybbie could attend Ripon Girls Grammar School. Then she'd go off to university. Sybil would have been beside herself at the thought. But for now, Sybbie needed to do her schoolwork.

He looked up to see Mary walking along the corridor, holding Violet. Vi often clung to her mother. It was a marked difference from when George had been that little, when Mary only saw her son for an hour or so everyday. Now they only had Annie, the nanny, during the day and Charles, who had also been raised by nannies, insisted on caring for their own children when the nanny wasn't in. Mary had agreed.

Tom met Mary at the top of the stairs. He chucked Vi under her chin, earning a giggle.

"Is Sybbie in the nursery?"

Mary nodded.

"I'll have to lower the happiness in there considerably. She has to do her homework."

"Of course," Mary said. "Um, Tom, I have to tell you something."

Tom nodded.

"Well, Sybbie came to me today with...because..." Mary stopped and steadied herself before continuing. "Oh, hell. She's growing up."

"Yes, she is." That wasn't news. Sybbie had grown three inches in the last year.

"She's growing into a woman."

"Eventually, she will be," he replied, puzzled.

"No! She's...she's started her first menstrual cycle today. At school, apparently. I've told her what to do, what things to use, but...you must know about it. You would figure it out on your own, of course, but for a young girl...I wasn't sure if she would tell you." Mary looked distinctly embarrassed.

Ah. Menstruation. Tom had sisters, older and younger, and many female cousins. He'd seen them all when they grew cross and testy or cried at everything during that time of the month. Of course, he hadn't known why that was so for a very long while. Sybil had been his first true intimate knowledge of a woman's cycle. By then, he'd of course known what menstruation was, but he hadn't quite understood how much of a woman's life had to do with her monthly: if it came too early or if it was late, if it caused headaches and cramps or bursts of energy, if it was heavy or light. Sybil hadn't wanted to share anything about her cycle with him at first, but it seemed the sort of thing a husband ought to know.

It was an eye-opener. God knows, he wouldn't want to bleed every month for forty years.

"I'm sure you know about..." Mary's voice drifted off.

Tom smirked. "Mary, I've been married. I know everything."

Mary laughed. "Very well. But, you know, if you ever need to ask questions or need a woman's reference, you know where to find us."

"Of course."

Tom walked toward the nursery, Mary at his side.

"Soon, it'll be brassieres and boys'll come sniffing about and she'll be off to grammar school..." Tom went on.

"You've done so well with her," Mary said. "I can't even...just those years when it was George and me were so hard. Of course, I had so much help on hand, but I worried about whether he had a male influence in his life and if not having Matthew around would affect him."

"I wonder the same things about Sybbie."

And he did. Sybbie had many female influences in her life, thank goodness. She kept up a lively correspondence with his mother, for one thing, but she had Cora, Mary, and Edith closer to hand. She had teachers at school, Mrs. Mason out on her farm and Mrs. Bates who now ran the pub and attached inn with Mr. Bates in the village.

Yet still, none of those women were her mother.

In the nursery, Tom and Mary found Sybbie and Charlotte sitting at the table in the center of the room. Sybbie was too big for the chairs; she looked like a giant. Ruthie sat on the floor, playing and humming to herself.

"Da!" Sybbie said. "I'm helping Charlotte with her maths homework."

Tom smiled. "That's good. Sybbie's very good at mathematics." He put Sybbie's school bag down beside her. "There you are."

"Thank you, Da," Sybbie said, opening her bag. "I've some homework of my own, Charlotte."

"It must be ever so hard," Charlotte said, watching Sybbie pull out notebooks, a textbook, and a workbook.

"But you learn it as you go, so that it's not hard," Sybbie said. "I think I'll start with maths first, then do English later. I have to read a chapter of this book for English class." She put a little paperback on the table. Tom peered over and saw that she was reading _Pride and Prejudice_ at school. Sybil had quite liked the book, but she disapproved of Mr. Darcy, which made Tom laugh. Typical Sybil. He wondered if their daughter would have the same reaction?

"Do you like the book?" He asked.

His daughter nodded. "I like the Bennets. Of course Mr. Collins is simply a toady."

Tom smiled. "All right, love. See you at dinner."

Outside in the corridor, Tom shook his head. Later, in their own home, Tom would gently ask his daughter about her day. Should he mention her new state? Would she even want to talk about it? They shared most everything, he and Sybbie, but now, perhaps, Tom had to acknowledge that there were aspects to a girl's life that he would never understand. And that's where Aunt Mary and Aunt Edith came in.

Tom returned downstairs to the library. He had some correspondence to look over before the gong, though the gong was no longer rung at Downton Abbey. It was simply understood that dinner would be served at seven, eight if there was company. He crossed the empty hall and entered the small library, where there was another desk placed for his particular use while at the Abbey.

Lord Grantham sat on one of the red couches, reading. He was still an upright man, who stood with his back army-straight and treated everyone with a distant paternal courtesy that had once grated Tom's nerves. Now, knowing the man as well as he did, Tom understood why Lord Grantham was the way he was. He saw the refinement, manners, and old-fashioned courtesy in his father-in-law. Refinement, politeness, and duty, as far as Tom could tell, could never go amiss.

"Ah, Tom," Robert said. "Charles says the meeting was quite a success."

"Not an unqualified success, but it will give us a place to sell and earn," Tom replied. "It's rather a good job that we have Charles. He's like a bellwether."

Robert chuckled. "He is at that. He's very good at his job. I think he may be a future minister." Charles still worked for the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries, and Food in London, but he spent a significant amount of his time working for the estate as well. His seemingly endless energy was serving them well. "I know I wasn't thrilled with him as Mary's choice of husband initially, but..."

Tom smiled. "You weren't much thrilled with me either."

"Indeed." Robert changed the subject. "Is Sybbie about?"

"She's in the nursery with the girls, doing her homework."

"She's studious, isn't she?"

Tom nodded. "She is."

"Jolly good. She'll go far. But of course she will, being yours and Sybil's child. She earns good grades even at the village school..."

Tom turned away and rolled his eyes. He remembered the comments when he named his daughter and when he declared that she would be baptized Catholic. Or when he decided to move out of the big house into the gatehouse. Or when he decided that Ivy, who he took on as a cook-housekeeper after her return from America, was fine as his only help in his home. Or when he decided to send Sybbie to the Downton Village School, the first Crawley child sent there and the first agent's child sent there as well.

He'd grown to love the Crawleys, but they did still hold some ridiculous notions of the world. The village school, which was endowed by the estate, was a perfectly reasonable place. The teachers were all good and Tom knew all the pupils' parents. Children in neighboring villages traveled to attend their village school, for the teaching was excellent. But at first, Lord Grantham had had a minor sniff about it because the Crawley daughters had always been educated by a governess; if he had to send Sybbie to a school, then a girls' school was the way, not the village school with the village children.

Tom, who had been pulled out of school at fourteen years old, disagreed. His daughter was his daughter and he wanted her to be raised with a sense that she wasn't any better than anyone else. More privileged perhaps, and certainly wanted and loved, but no better than anyone else. At twelve, Sybbie was comfortable chatting with Mrs. Mason and Mrs. Bates and Annie, Mary's nanny, as well as Miss Bunting, her teacher, and Mary and Edith's rather grand friends. She had the easy ability to relate to people that came from her Irish side, he thought, and the manners and polish of her Crawley side as well.

He decided to keep Sybbie's menstruation to himself. Robert would find it distasteful and Tom did not want to embarrass his daughter, even if she wouldn't know about it. Later, he would decide how to broach the topic with her at home.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everyone! Thank you for your reviews! I so, so, so appreciate the kind thoughts and words on this story. You guys are awesome!

Don't own Downton Abbey. Obviously. I'm poor, so don't sue me.

**Chapter Five**

Dinner at Downton Abbey was still a formal affair. The clothes the family wore to dinner were still evening clothes, though they were from last year or even two years ago instead of made just a few weeks ago. The men now all wore tuxedos and the women no longer decked themselves out in jewels quite as much.

Mary inspected herself in the vanity mirror in her bedroom; it was a habit she could never rid herself of completely. Now, she saw the few strands of gray in her dark brown hair, the lines and wrinkles on her face, but she did not spend her time obsessing over them. Charles appeared behind her in the mirror, grimacing as he fixed his bow tie.

"Are the chicks settled in?" Mary asked. Charles had just come from the nursery, where Annie was completing her last duty of the day, giving supper to Charlotte and Ruthie. Violet had eaten and fallen asleep thirty minutes ago.

"They are, and most resentful that they can't eat dinner with George and Sybbie."

"When I was a girl, I didn't eat with the adults until I was sixteen years old," Mary remarked. She watched her husband's fingers at his collar. They had lived similar enough lives before the war that he didn't find dressing up for dinner utterly ridiculous, but Charles saw the world differently. His father had been a plain Mr. Blake with distant aristocratic connections; a gentleman, but not a noble. Charles happily worked. He wanted to care for their children in the evenings and at night and on weekends. Her husband was an unabashed modern.

"You know," Mary said. "George, Sybbie, and our girls...they're quite lucky in having each other, don't you think?"

Charles smiled. "More like brother and sisters than cousins and half-siblings."

Mary nodded. Precisely.

# # #

The Crawleys still gathered in the drawing room before supper, the glided across the hall into the dining room when Barrow announced dinner served. Lord and Lady Grantham sat across from one another in the center of the table, with Mary and Charles beside them. Tom sat at the foot of the table, the several utensils now nearly second nature to him. Barrow would pour a measure of wine in the adults' glasses and then with the help of one of the maids, he would serve dinner.

No footmen anymore.

Sybbie and George sat at the other end beside each other. Sybbie was still a little taller than George, but that would change soon. George looked ready to sprout. He was the spitting image of Matthew, though with darker blond hair and Mary's dark eyes. Sybbie looked so much like Sybil in the face, with the same eyes, but Tom also saw himself in his daughter.

Dinner was pleasant and very tasty. It was actually nice to sit and eat with the family. The dinners Tom and Sybbie ate at their house were far less formal, with more chatting and a bit more laughter. But the correctness with which the Crawleys still conducted themselves were not an indication of any lack of feeling among the family. Just that they'd all been trained to be restrained.

Tom sipped his wine. He had a great measure of restraint in him, too, but he wondered if that restraint had become reticence over the years.

He missed having a woman in his life. There'd been a few over the years that caught his eye and even fewer that caught his interest. But what had he been but the jumped-up son-in-law of Lord Grantham? The former chauffeur, the scandalous runaway husband of the youngest Crawley daughter. The widower. The father.

He was still all those things, but more, too. Now he was truly the estate agent of Downton Abbey, a respected man in this area. He couldn't imagine bringing a woman into the Crawley family at the time. Now he wondered if the Crawleys wouldn't adjust; they'd adjusted and taken in Charles and each of his and Mary's daughters as they came, after all. But Mary was their daughter. It was different.

Would Sybbie even want a mother at this point?

# # #

Night had truly fallen by the time Tom and Sybbie walked out of Downton Abbey headed for home. But neither of them minded. It was a short walk and the cool air was crisp and bracing. Before they left, Mary had run upstairs and returned with a package for Sybbie, wrapped in brown paper.

This was the ideal time to speak to his daughter about, well, about her day. Now, how to begin? Ask about school? Ask about what she played with the girls? He wouldn't just come right about and ask after her menstruation. That seemed too...blunt.

Somewhere in heaven, Sybil was rolling about with laughter right now.

Tom cleared his throat and simply asked, "Are you tired, Sybbie?"

Sybbie looked up and said, "A little."

"It was a nice treat to have dinner with the family, wasn't it?"

Sybbie grinned. "Yes, it was! Even though I saw them all a few days ago. I mean, we live right up the road."

"Aye." He eyed the bundle in her arms. "What did Aunt Mary give you there?"

Sybbie hesitated and turned her head down. "Um..." She coughed. "A few things."

"You ought to know that Aunt Mary told me what happened today," Tom said gently. He scratched the back of his head. Oh, he did _not_ want to think about what was happening to his daughter's body. It made him feel squeamish, to be honest. Last year, Mary had whispered that "Sybbie's breasts were growing" and he'd grown flush with embarrassment. He wasn't the kind of father to want his daughter to stay little all his life, but Jesus, as a man, all the changes happening and those changes still to come to his little girl were tinged with a strange, faint, nauseating feeling. Girls seemed to go through so much in these years. He remembered his elder sisters being so happy one second and then crying the next minute throughout adolescence. He'd done his best to stay out of their way.

"Oh," Sybbie squeaked. "It's, um, well...Aunt Edith had told me what happens and Aunt Mary helped because I wasn't sure what to do after..."

"Yes, yes," Tom said, sticking his hands into his pockets. They were a few hundred yards away from the end of the Abbey's driveway. "Um, so, she told you what you need to do?"

"She did. And I..." Sybbie stopped. "I love you, Da, but I don't think I want to talk to you about all this. It's so embarrassing."

Tom felt embarrassed as well, even broaching the topic, but reasoned that he was her parent. Her only parent. He had to know and deal with these things. But it was true, he was at a disadvantage here. He was the wrong gender.

"Well, I, uh," he began before pausing and starting again. "If you have troubles, you can always ask Ivy at home and of course, your aunts. But don't be...embarrassed. Every woman goes through what you are. Mrs. Bates, Granny, Aunt Mary. Even Great-Granny Violet."

Sybbie giggled. True, Old Lady Grantham had indeed been very old by the time Sybbie was born and it seemed patently ridiculous to suggest that even the Dowager Countess had once been a young girl going through the woes of puberty and first periods. But of course, she had. Lord Grantham and Lady Rosamund were proof of that.

# # #

The next morning, Sybbie woke up, rolled over, sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, all of the usual stirrings her sleepy body performed in the first minute of waking up in the morning. Then things began to register. It was sunny out this morning. She could see the light coming through the curtains on her windows. Her lower stomach ached.

Her monthly. Yes, that was why she felt sticky there.

Sybbie had changed her sanitary napkin twice at home last night. Aunt Mary, when giving her a package of plenty of extra napkins, said that she ought to change it right before bed and that these cotton pads were to be thrown away after their use.

Sybbie was relieved by that. She knew that not long ago, such things were kept in buckets and washed and reused. She wasn't sure how she knew that, only maybe she heard some women speaking of it. Possibly the servants at the Abbey, when there were more of them and she had gone down to the kitchens to visit.

Sybbie wondered how many napkins she should bring to school with her. Surely she would need to change the things in school. Biting her lip, Sybbie got out of bed. When she stood, she felt the sling and napkin slide and adjust. She reached for her covers to make her bed, for Da insisted on her cleaning her own room and making her own bed, but stopped stock-still.

There was a jagged brown stain in the center of her sheet.

Sybbie's cheeks burned, then she reached around for the back of her nightgown. She saw a similarly-shaped stain there, too. The sling and napkin must have slipped. She'd bled through her knickers and nightgown.

And now Ivy would see the stains when she came up later to collect the laundry and change the sheets. How mortifying.

"Sybbie!" She heard Da call from downstairs. "Are you awake? You'll be late if you don't get a move on!"


	6. Chapter 6

Hey everyone! Thank you for your reviews! I so, so, so appreciate the kind thoughts and words on this story. You guys are awesome! There are some new OCs in this chapter. We meet Sybbie's group of friends and...well...someone with a connection to the Crawleys.

Don't own Downton Abbey. Obviously. I'm poor, so don't sue me.

**Chapter Six**

Sybbie made sure to pack plenty of the sanitary napkins in her schoolbag. Huddled in her black coat, she walked to school just as Da walked up to the big house for work. Outside Downton Village School, students of all grades milled about, greeting friends, and waiting for the school day to begin.

Among the students, Sybbie waved hello to her cousin Charlotte, who stood with a group of other younger girls, and then she walked to join a group of her own friends.

On the way there, Sybbie saw a young girl, maybe about nine or ten years old, trip, her books scattering all over the ground. As Sybbie approached to help, she heard some giggles and snickers and noticed a group of girls and lads standing near the girl, now standing but trying to gather her things. The group watched the girl, laughing, doing nothing to help.

Sybbie reached for some of the girl's things. "Here you are. Are you all right?"

The girl nodded, not saying a word. She was a pale little girl, with strawberry-blonde hair and gentle-looking grey eyes. Her face was unremarkable, but she had a sweet, sad look about her. Poor dear. Clearly, she was not popular with her class.

"Tripped again, did ya, Caro?" One of the girls called out with a wide grin. "Clumsy!"

Sybbie turned to the group and scowled. "Leave her alone!" Then, handing the poor girl her things, Sybbie asked, "What's your name?"

"Caroline Drewe," the girl said. "You're in year seven, aren't you?"

Sybbie nodded. "I am. My name is Sybbie Branson."

Caroline blinked her eyes. "Oh! Are you Mr. Branson's daughter?"

Sybbie thought for a moment and nodded. She was used to it; everyone in the village knew she was Mr. Branson's daughter and Lord Grantham's granddaughter. Grandpapa owned the village, after all.

The bell rang and the school's doors opened and in they all went. Sybbie watched Caroline walk toward her class before turning and joining her friends on their way to hang up their coats in Miss Bunting's room.

# # #

At lunch in the lunchroom, Sybbie sat with her three best friends. There was Ellie, Dr. Stockett's daughter, and Margie, the vicar's daughter, and Lily, whose parents ran one of the local farms. The four girls ate and chatted at one end of the long lunch table.

Ellie was just finished moaning about maths class when Sybbie took a breath and said, "I've got something important and secret to tell you." Feeling her cheeks pink, Sybbie continued, "My first monthly started yesterday."

"Cor!" Lily exclaimed. "My sister started when she was twelve, too. She's always cross when it comes!"

"Lud, Sybbie, do you feel all right?" Margie asked.

"Right enough," Sybbie replied. "My belly feels rather odd. And I do feel more tired. I think."

"My father says I may start that rather soon," Ellie said. "I don't want to, but Mummy's already told me what happens."

The girls quieted.

"I went to my Aunt Mary," Sybbie replied. Of her friends, she was the only one with no mother living. "I was terribly mortified, but Aunt Mary knows everything and she was a great help. Of course, I had to tell Da..."

The other girls grimaced.

"And," Sybbie said, leaning in, "I stained my sheet overnight. It's awful!"

Lily nodded. "They do get messy from time to time, right enough."

Margie shivered. "The first of us to become a woman."

"But not," Ellie said, "the first of us to wear a brassiere." Which was true. Ellie's cleavage was quite impressive. They giggled.

# # #

The final bell of the day rang and Sybbie packed up her things into her bag and walked to the peg where her coat hung, relieved that she could now go home, relieved that her first day as a woman, as Margie quipped, had gone well. Nothing embarrassing, not much pain, no leaks. As she put on her coat, Miss Bunting called, "Miss Branson, just a moment, please."

Sybbie waved goodbye to Margie and Ellie and waited for her teacher to reach her.

"Is everything all right, Miss Branson?" Miss Bunting asked.

Sybbie nodded. "Yes, Miss Bunting."

"Good. Because yesterday, you seemed shaken."

"No, I'm fine, Miss Bunting," Sybbie said. Of course, she had been a bit shaken yesterday. But now, knowing what was happening and knowing Aunt Mary would gladly help her, as she'd done all of Sybbie's life, Sybbie once again felt her usual self. She was not a weeper. She was not a whiner. She was not a complainer.

And she really didn't want to tell everyone in her life that she had begun menstruating. Just speaking of it with Da, knowing that Ivy would see her stained sheet, was quite enough.

# # #

Tom exited the small library of Downton Abbey and jumped as he heard a banshee's cry echo off the high ceiling of the main hall.

There was a loud pitter-patter sound as well and Tom looked about and saw Ruthie running down the main stairs. He grinned. Mary had walked down those stairs in all her majesty on both her wedding days and been regal. He had walked those stairs with Sybil and felt like he was ascending into a royal residence. But now, the red stairs with the many portraits of long-dead Crawleys was reduced to a simple staircase where the Blake girls chased one another.

Tom hurried toward them. Ruthie was fast on her feet, but Vi had only started walking and her climbing skills were not there yet; in fact, Vi was crying out to her sister and climbing the stairs backwards. He scooped the baby up before she could wobble to the landing and looked up as he heard Annie say, "Oh, Christ!"

"It's all right," he called up to the nanny as she hurried down, her long dark skirt swaying. "I've got this one." He bounced Vi in his arms.

Annie shook her head. "Thank you, Mr. Branson. I stepped out for one moment." She slowed as she came to the landing, where he stood with the baby, and turned, calling, "Ruthie! You're not to leave without saying! Your sister followed. She could've hurt herself very badly."

Ruthie was spinning in a circle.

Annie rubbed her forehead, brown eyes shutting for just a moment. Her brown hair was parted and held in a chignon. "Oh, never mind. It's my fault anyhow." She held out her arms. "Thank you, Mr. Branson, for the rescue."

He smiled. "Not a problem. It's an uncle's job." He handed Vi back to the nanny. "Besides, George and Sybbie escaped from the nursery plenty of times when they were younger. Lady Mary and I would often find them with Mr. Carson."

Annie smiled at Vi. "They're very precious at this age. I remember when my Josie was this little."

"Your mother watches her when you're here, yes?"

"Aye," Annie replied. "Though Josie started school this year, so she's there during most of the day."

Tom snuck a look at his niece. Ruthie was still spinning. "Ruthie, sweetheart, you'll get dizzy!"

"No!" She called. "I'm a tornado, Uncle Tom!"

"A tornado? How terrifying! Isn't it, Annie?"

Annie nodded. "Oh, 'tis! Come, Ruthie. Shall we walk and see if Charlotte is on her way home from school?"

The tornado stopped spinning and nodded. Tom smiled his goodbye to Annie and returned to his desk in the library, the lighthearted interlude a welcome scene of his day.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey everyone! The appropriate Downton line for this chapter is "What is a Weekend?" Did y'all see that teaser trailer of portentous doom for season 5? I find myself trying to remember what it was like to be twelve, in the thralls of puberty, for this fic...and I must've blocked quite a bit of it out, because I can't seem to remember a good chunk of

puberty all that clearly.

I do not own Downton Abbey.

**Chapter Seven**

Relief! Her first monthly course was done! Sybbie almost felt like dancing a jig when she realized that the sanitary napkins were no longer stained and she could go about without the belt sticking to her in odd places.

There was nothing Sybbie enjoyed more than a lie-in on the weekend. And now that her monthly was gone, she was able to sprawl on her bed in the position she liked, on her belly, arms and legs resting comfortably, instead of sleeping rigid on her back, with a towel under her hips to prevent any more leaks and stains.

Sybbie wrinkled her nose, even as she slept, feeling the warmth of the morning sun coming in through her window. Sleeping during the morning was _the best. _She heard the telephone ring downstairs and rolled over, enjoying the relaxing warmth. Da let her sleep quite late on the weekends, unless it was a religious holiday and they had to go to church in Ripon. The phone stopped; someone must have answered.

What seemed like seconds later, but was longer, Sybbie felt a hand shaking her and Da's gentle voice saying, "Sybbie, love. Syb?"

She lifted her head off the pillow and looked at her father.

"Uncle Charles just rang. He's taking George and Charlotte on a hike, then a ride, and wondered if you'd like to join them."

Sybbie raised an eyebrow. When Uncle Charles said hike..."You mean we're going to see the pigs?"

Da grinned. "I expect so." Da turned to leave. "Get dressed. You're to have luncheon at the Abbey beforehand."

Sybbie walked up to the house, where Thomas was waiting outside the front door for her. He inclined his head and wished her a good morning.

"Luncheon's to be served momentarily, Miss Sybbie," Thomas said.

They set off for other parts of the estate an hour later, Uncle Charles leading, with Charlotte near him, and George and Sybbie together behind. They all wore coats and boots as they tramped through woods and up trails on hills until they reached the home farm.

"Have I ever regaled you with the tale of what happened on the night the pigs first arrived at Downton?" Uncle Charles asked with a flourish.

"No, Papa!" Charlotte said.

"Well," he said. "The pigs arrived while I and Lord Branksome were staying here doing a study of estates. Your Mama and I ventured after dinner, in our dinner clothes, to see the pigs and make sure they were well-settled. Well, they weren't well-settled at all! They'd kicked the trough over and they'd had no water for hours and were very ill."

George piped up. "So what did you, Father?"

"I grabbed a bucket and ran toward the nearest spigot, in the barn. And your Mama did the same. We had to let the pigs drink slowly, so as not to make them more ill. It took most of the night and we were very tired and muddy by the end." Uncle Charles laughed. "But now, look how it's all turned out. Downton bacon sells well here in the north."

In a large clearing near a large, new barn, lay the pig pens. It was November, so the pigs mostly milled about in the barn. November was also slaughtering time for the pigs. Sybbie thought pigs were cute animals and at first, she was sad that the pigs were killed to make bacon, pork and sausage. But Papa explained that without the pigs, there would be no bacon, no pork, no sausage. Without those products, Downton Abbey would not be in as good a place as it was now.

"With any type of meat, love, an animal has to be slaughtered. Beef, chicken, pork, even fish. It's the farming cycle, the farming life. And what is Downton but a very large farm with a very fancy house?"

A brown-haired man emerged out of the barn and said, "Hello, Mr. Blake."

"Hello, Mr. Drewe," Uncle Charles said.

Sybbie looked at the man a touch more closely. That girl in front of school the other day...her name was Caroline Drewe. This must be her father. He looked nothing like the little girl, being tall and rather dark and strong-looking.

"You know George and Charlotte," Uncle Charles said. "I don't know if you know my niece, Sybbie Branson."

Mr. Drewe tipped his hat to her. Sybbie smiled. "I don't believe we've met, Miss Branson, but I often work with your father."

"Now, how are our squealers doing?"

Mr. Drewe then detailed how many fattening hogs had been sent to the slaughterhouse, how many piglets, and how many living piglets would be designated as fattening pigs come the spring. Uncle Charles, of course, wanted to see the pigs in their very large pen inside the barn and the children followed. Sybbie couldn't help but grin as she watched the pigs roots about in the dirt and snort and make noises.

# # #

It was Saturday, but Tom Branson was so used to working on Saturdays for most of his adult life that he often used Saturdays as his day for errands. He walked to the small Downton library and dropped off his and Sybbie's borrowed books. On the way out, he saw Miss Bunting, one of Sybbie's teachers.

"Good afternoon," he said, tipping his hat to her.

"Good afternoon," Miss Bunting replied. "I wonder if I may ask your advice on something."

"Of course."

"Miss Denning, the history teacher, and I are collaborating on a project for the students to explore and write a narrative report on their family trees."

"Sounds interesting."

Miss Bunting nodded. "We think so, only we don't wish to make things awkward." She stopped.

Had he missed something? "Awkward how?"

"Well, for some of the students, they won't be able to trace much further than grandparents or a few generations beyond that. Whereas, for your daughter..."

"I know up to my great-greats," Tom said. "Which would be Sybbie's great-great-greats."

"Wonderful! But, well, what of her mother's side? I imagine the Granthams can trace their roots all the way back to Charlemagne."

Tom shrugged, mentally going over his list. He wanted to pop in at the pub and say hello to the Bateses. Then he wanted to look in on Mrs. Hughes, who lived in a cottage in the village now.

"We don't want the other students to feel slighted when only Miss Branson can trace her roots back so far."

Tom shook his head. "Why should they feel slighted? It's nothing to do with them. Now, I really must get on. Good day, Miss Bunting."

# # #

"Oh, my word!" Aunt Mary said as they tramped into the main hall. "Home from the farmyard, I see." She leaned in to kiss Uncle Charles on the cheek.

"We went to see the pigs, Mama!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"Did you? How were they?"

"Muddy."

Aunt Mary laughed. "Well, well. Good afternoon, Sybbie dear."

Sybbie smiled.

"I think you three need baths," Aunt Mary went on. She ushered the three children upstairs and began filling the tub in the nursery bathroom for Charlotte and the one beside George's bedroom for him. "Come, Sybbie, you can use this bathroom. And we always have clothes for you."

"Thank you, Aunt Mary," Sybbie said, following. After the long walk and then the pony ride she and her cousins had had today, she felt sweaty and sticky, despite the thin November sun and the cold. There was an odd, sour smell to her shirt as well. Sybbie tried not to breathe out of her nose until Aunt Mary led her to one of the other bathrooms, started the tap, and said she'd knock when she found something for her to change into.

As the thunderous sound of water filling the tub surrounded her, Sybbie took off her clothes. Her chest was still quite flat, compared to her friend Ellie's. She stopped the tap as the water came up quickly to the perfect height, shoved down her knickers, and climbed in.

Ah, but the water felt grand.

She quickly began to wash, at one point lifting an arm to reach a part of her back. Sybbie sniffed. Good God, what was that stink? Sybbie moved her head slightly and made a face. It was coming from her underarm. Sybbie quickly brought the soapy cloth and scrubbed both underarms, seeing little black hairs there. They'd never smelt like that before. Had she been sweating that badly today?

# # #

"See you both later," Tom called to Mr. Bates and Anna as he walked out of their pub into the street. A quick stopover at Mrs. Hughes', then he'd go home and call Downton to see what Sybbie was up to there.

He passed the grocer's and the post office, the new tailor's shop and a few row houses when he saw a familiar face walking toward him, a little girl beside her.

"Hello Annie," Tom called.

Annie, Mary's nanny, saw him and smiled. "Hello Mr. Branson." Annie had her weekends off; Charles had declared that he didn't see a reason why they ought to have the nanny in on weekends unless they really needed her. "This is my daughter, Josie."

Tom looked at the little brown-haired little girl, who was probably the same age as Ruthie, and said hello. She said hello back, but with a grave expression on her face.

"Are you about estate business today?"

"No, no," Tom replied. "Just errands and calling on some old friends." He looked at the sky. "It's a remarkably clear day for November, isn't it?"

"It is," Annie agreed. She smiled, lighting up her whole face. "And no young toddlers to rescue."

They parted a moment later, with Josie finally smiling her goodbye.

# # #

Aunt Mary knocked on the bathroom door. By then, Sybbie was sitting in a towel, untangling her long brown hair. She really ought to cut it in a bob, like Aunt Edith's hair. Wouldn't it be much easier? Wouldn't it be more grown-up?

"Here, I found this dress and sweater," Aunt Mary said. "I think the sweater might be Rose's, actually. But everything ought to fit. Those knickers are a pair of yours that you left a while ago."

"Oh! Thank you, Aunt Mary," Sybbie replied. Then, deciding to at least ask, Sybbie lifted an arm and said, "Aunt Mary, I smell under here. I promise I wash as I ought to, but I've never smelt like that before."

Aunt Mary paused. Then she said: "I think you might need to start using deodorant."


	8. Chapter 8

I'm sorry for the large gap of time between updates! I happened to have hit my groove with the novel I'm writing/revising, which meant putting the fanfiction to the side for a bit.

Still, have a little Christmas in July.

**Chapter Eight**

Christmas was Sybbie's favorite time of year. In her house, Ivy would begin bringing in bits of holly and pine to trim the house and Da would go up to the crawl space of an attic and dig out the red ribbons and their few ornaments: a crystal angel that Grandma Cora had given Sybbie, which always sat atop their Christmas tree, a few bells, and some colored glass balls.

Da came home one day with a small pine, only about three feet tall, which he placed in the corner of the parlor. That night, he and Sybbie decorated.

The next day, however, they went up to the big house to help in more substantial decorating. Downton Abbey was always decked out for the season. The outdoor servants would find a tall evergreen and haul it in to set up in the front hall. The indoor servants would decorate the main downstairs rooms with acorns, pine, red ribbons, bells, and holly.

Sybbie bent over a box of decorations brought down that morning. Beside her, George was pulling out what must have been a yard or more of gold ribbon and Grandma Cora sat in one of the chairs, reading a storybook to Ruthie.

The front door opened. Sybbie turned to see a woman in a fashionable powder blue coat and matching hat walk in, with Thomas following behind her with a few cases.

"Aunt Edith!" Sybbie exclaimed. She and George stood and walked toward her.

"Hello!" Aunt Edith replied. "The tree's already up!" She hugged Sybbie and George in turn, then bent to kiss Grandma Cora on the cheek. "Hello Mama."

"Edith dear," Grandma replied. "So happy to have you home."

Edith smiled. "I'll just go take off my coat," she said, walking toward the stairs, where Mary was walking down with baby Vi in her arms. "Oh, hello!"

Aunt Mary smiled. "Welcome home, Edith! How was the train?"

"Quiet. I managed to get a little writing done on the way up," Aunt Edith said. "I'll be right down."

Aunt Edith lived and worked in London. She wrote articles for _The Sketch_, but her writings also appeared in _The Times_, _Blackwood's Magazine_, and rather excitingly, earlier this year, she'd been printed in America's _Saturday Evening Post_. She lived in a flat and wore fashionable clothing and knew quite a lot of famous people. Yet, to Sybbie, Aunt Edith was her quiet, observant, studious auntie, the one who first taught her a simple tune on the piano in the music room and the one who often read to Sybbie when she was younger.

It was terribly exciting to have her home.

# # #

Tom entered Downton Abbey's main hall, hung up his hat and coat, and sighed as he felt the warmth emitted from the roaring fire. He'd been out on a round of visits and inspections and this close to Christmas, it was cold out. Still, no one under his care was freezing or going hungry. The farms were in decent shape, the pigs had been slaughtered and eaten or sold, and it was time to decorate Downton's Christmas tree.

The whole Crawley clan sat about the tree. Ruthie and Charlotte were stringing popcorn on a string. Mary and Edith were hanging small ornaments, the heirloom ones, on the tree, above the level of grabby hands. Cora and Robert directed some of the decorating; George and Sybbie were hanging ribbons on the tree while Charles was bent over a box on the floor, laughing about something with Cousin Rose and her husband.

Tom joined them. This was his family, had been for a number of years, and the decorating of the tree had become one of his favorite moments of the year with the Crawleys. He enjoyed watching Sybbie do up their modest tree in their house as well. But there was something about being in a larger family group that felt nice and staved away the nostalgia and sadness of the season.

He missed Sybil the most at Christmas and on Sybbie's birthday. By rights, she should have been here as well, drinking hot tea and deciding with her sisters where the glass ornaments ought to hang.

"Ah, Tom," Charles said. "How was everything?"

"Fine," Tom replied, finding a seat. "Everyone's warm and fed and ready for the season. That's all I can ask for. Hello Rose, Tony."

Rose, now the Lady Gillingham, smiled, as happy and warm as ever. Her husband, Tony Foyle, Lord Gillingham, also smiled his way.

"We just got in a few hours ago," Rose said.

"Will you stay through Christmas?"

"Until the 26th, then back to Gillinghamstead for New Year's," Rose replied. "Sybbie's grow so!"

"Hasn't she?"

Edith turned and smiled. "Tom!"

Tom rose and went to shake hands with Edith, whom he hadn't seen in several months. "It's lovely to see you, Edith."

Edith gestured to what decorating she and Mary had managed. "The Crawley sisters decorate."

Aristocratic families, he'd learned, had specific ornaments for nearly every occasion and milestone and like everything else, they inherited a great deal of Christmas things as well. The angel that would go atop the tree, for instance, was from Lord Grantham's father's youth. Each of the girls had precious glass ornaments with their name and the year of their birth engraved.

Mary, Edith, and Sybil's all hung in a row. Tears began to pool behind his eyes looking at Sybil's name and birthdate, tears staved off by Sybbie wanting to show him how she'd draped the ribbons.

"They look very nice," he told his daughter, leaning over to kiss her on the top of her head.

He caught Edith's eyes over Sybbie's head; Edith's expression went from content to pensive, even sad, within moments.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The family gathered over Christmas had grown and shrunk all at the same time, Mary thought. Of course, they had lost Sybil and Matthew, Granny and Isobel, and Patrick long before. But they had gained Tom, the children, Charles, Rose and Tony.

Mary shook her head. She sat in the library at the desk, looking over figures from the winter harvest of Downton pork, sausage, and ham. The times may have been lean, but inside the library, Mary was bundled up in a wool dress, with the hiss and crackle of the fire behind her. She wasn't quite sure where everyone was; George had simply said he had business in the village, to which Mary had stifled a laugh. She supposed he meant gift-buying. Tony and Rose had gone to catch a film in York. Charles and Tom were out and about on the estate. The girls were up in the nursery. And Edith...

Mary frowned. Where was Edith? She'd muttered something about calling on friends, except many of their childhood friends no longer lived on the grand estates to which they had been born. Several of them, like Edith, lived in London.

Once again, Mary shook her head. Christmas was but three days away and her mind was already on a wandering bit of holiday. She frowned; a wandering mind was most unlike her.

# # #

Tom and Charles drove about the narrow dirt roads of the estate. They had started earlier that morning at the mill, then traveled about the farms Tom hadn't gotten to the day before, to wish the tenants a happy Christmas and to be sure that nothing needed to be done before they all hunkered down for the holiday.

Charles had come up with an idea that Tom quite liked. Neither was sure what Lord Grantham would think of it. The estate had a rather large golf course on its grounds and Charles had wondered if, perhaps, renting the course or charging for its use might generate income for the estate.

"I think it's rather fine," Tom said. "Downton Village School uses the estate's cricket pitch for their games and practices."

"Free of charge?"

"We can't very well charge the local school," Tom said. "But perhaps we can charge others...suppose there are villages nearby that don't have a cricket pitch?"

"Hmm. As long as it doesn't interfere with village versus house, I think Robert may be amenable," Charles laughed. Tom groaned. "You improved greatly this year!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'll not improve greatly at the New Year's shoot, I can tell you."

"It is an antiquated event, is it not?" Charles asked rhetorically. "Still, though, 'tis a fine time of year. I'm looking forward the Christmas pageant tomorrow." He grinned. "My Charlotte, an angel." He laughed.

Tom smiled. "Ah, but Vi being the Baby Jesus was equally as good."

"I suppose Sybbie was never Baby Jesus in a pageant?"

"Here we are," Tom said, pulling up to a wooden fence. It marked the boundary of Yew Tree Farm, which was the Drewes' farm all the way back to the 1700s. Tom had often reflected that the English had a great sense of history, of place. His family had also possibly been farming in the 1700s, but then, they'd also been well under the English thumb by then as well.

He and Charles got out of the car and walked up to the farmhouse. Just outside on the front porch, there was a sled, for Drewe was father to two active lads and two sweet girls, and leaning against the house was a bicycle.

Tom knocked on the door and a few moments later, Mrs. Drewe answered.

"Oh, Mr. Branson!" She said. "Mr. Blake!"

Charles smiled. "We've come to wish you a happy Christmas and to be sure that nothing need be done before a holiday break."

"Oh, no, we're quite settled," Mrs. Drewe said. "Only my lads would like a spot of snow to sled on."

"Cannot help you there, Mrs. Drewe," Charles replied. "Is Mr. Drewe about?"

Footsteps sounded inside. Tom paid close attention, wondering if it might be Drewe.

Instead, he got a shock, for the person walking toward the front door was not a Drewe.

It was Lady Edith Crawley.

# # #

Sybbie ran home from school that day, for school was now out until after New Year's. 1933. She had received her report card this afternoon, one which Sybbie had skimmed through in the school yard before running home. The report card had made her smile, for she knew it would please Da that she had done so well in school this term.

Despite that bit, Sybbie had felt cross most of the day. She'd woken with a headache and her eagerness to be finished with the school day had worn down her patience. Good God, but Miss Bunting could drone on and on when she cared to.

In essence, the history teacher and Miss Bunting were teaming up for a project for the year sevens; they were to research, write a report, and present their family trees.

It was a project that interested Sybbie, actually. There were some family stories on the Crawley side that she knew of. How could she not? The Abbey was filled with portraits of her long-dead ancestors. But she also found Granny Cora's family, the Levinsons, terribly interesting. And what sort of family had Granny Cora's mother, Martha, come from? And Da's family were all characters.

And then Miss Bunting had said something that irritated Sybbie.

"Now some of you may not be able to go back as far you would wish," she said. "To be frank, you see, records and things are more readily available to those who have rather posh backgrounds. I do not want those who can trace their family trees generations back to think that a multitude of ancestors means that you'll gain a grand grade on this project."

At "rather posh backgrounds," of course, half the class had turned to Sybbie. The other girls here were farmer's daughters, daughters of the professional classes. There was nobody in her class who had a posher background than Sybbie.

But Miss Bunting's statement irritated Sybbie. She had distributed a paper explaining the objectives of the project: to learn how to research, to write a comprehensive paper based on that research, and to put their ancestors into historical context.

Yes, perhaps, putting the Crawleys into historical context would be easy. But Sybbie was not a Crawley; she was a Branson. Da was Irish, had grown up poor, worked himself up to chauffeur of a lord, educated himself, and married an Earl's daughter. When Mama died, hadn't Da taken on a new career _and_ raising her?

But running through the brisk December air cleared Sybbie's head some. Miss Bunting hadn't been specifically talking about her. Still, Sybbie felt prickly.

And the best thing to do when she felt like this? Beg a chocolate chip cookie of Ivy and have a cup of warm, sugary tea.

# # #

Admirably, Charles recovered from his surprise first.

"Edith," he said.

Edith nodded, biting her lip. Her polite smile looked like she had swallowed vinegar. "Charles, Tom." She turned to Mrs. Drewe. "Thank you, as always."

Mrs. Drewe nodded.

Edith came outside and reached for the bicycle.

"Social visit, was it?" Charles asked.

Edith did not answer. She did not have to, as a moment later, a little blonde girl appeared in the doorway. Tom recognized her as one of the Drewe girls, though the rest of the family had brown hair and she did not.

And the little girl's plaintive expression perfectly matched the one on Edith's face.


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews! Without further ado:

**Chapter Ten**

_Oh, God_, was all Tom Branson could think as his eyes flicked between his sister-in-law and the little girl who looked exactly like her. _No! But how? When? Why here?_

He could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sight. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened once again.

"Umm..." was all he managed to get out. Tom looked to Charles, who suddenly did not look as urbane as usual. Charles looked back and shook his head. Edith was picking up the bicycle. She placed a gentle hand on the little one's head and said softly, "Have a happy Christmas, my darling."

"Will you come see me again, Aunt Edith?" The little girl asked.

"Yes, dear," Edith replied. "I'll not return to London until after the New Year." She smiled. "Best get inside. It's rather nippy out."

The girl nodded and returned to the door, to stand by Mrs. Drewe. Edith took up her bike and dragged it down the shallow steps of the porch. Charles grabbed the handlebars and said, "Allow me." Tom followed, still feeling dazed.

"Why don't you come back with us, Edith?" Charles asked.

"Oh, but the bike..." Edith said.

"We brought the truck," Tom replied, voice finally returning. "It'll fit in the back."

There seemed to be a tacit agreement between the three to not discuss the Drewes, the little girl, or Edith's visit until they had returned to one of the larger dirt roads, leading in the direction of the house. Tom drove, but his head was spinning. He'd seen the Drewes' daughter about before and had noted that she didn't look like the others, but then, Drewe said she was actually the child of a friend of his, a friend who died. Drewe was the child's godfather and felt duty-bound to raise her, which Tom found very honorable.

"That's not his goddaughter," Tom blurted out.

"And you're not her aunt," Charles went on. Edith, sitting between them, knotted her gloved hands together. "Edith? Tell us. We won't judge or condemn."

"But you'll tell Mary," Edith said to Charles. She turned to Tom. "And who will you tell? Mama? Papa?"

"No one, if you don't want me to," Tom replied. "She's, what, about seven? Eight?"

"Nine," Edith said.

"What's her name?"

"Caroline Geneva Rose."

Nine years old. How had Edith hidden her all these years? In plain sight, that's how. Tom cast his mind back ten years ago. Charles wouldn't remember, having only been introduced to the Crawleys at about that time, but Tom well remembered. Edith had begun her journalism career and was spending lots of time in London. She'd been very friendly with her editor, Michael Gregson, and even, Tom had suspected, been in love with him. Then Gregson had gone to Germany and disappeared.

Edith had been very low then, terribly worried. Then she and Aunt Rosamund had gone to Switzerland for several months. Tom had wondered whether being in Switzerland also meant some trips into Germany to search for Mr. Gregson, but he'd never heard if they'd crossed the border or not.

Switzerland. Geneva was a city there.

"Switzerland," Tom said.

"Yes," Edith replied. "I gave birth in hospital in Geneva. I...well, I fed her. I weaned her. Then Aunt Rosamund had found a nice Swiss-German family to give the baby to. So I did. And then I came home."

Charles exhaled loudly. Tom then remembered how low Edith had seemed around Rose's debut. That had not been long after she'd returned from Europe.

"Then how did the baby come to be with the Drewes?" Charles asked.

The story came out. Tom deliberately drove them around the winding dirt roads of the estate slowly, taking the very scenic route back to the house. Edith had been tormented without her child. That Tom could understand. There had been suggestions after Sybil's death that he go off to Liverpool, Manchester, or London to find work and leave Sybbie at Downton Abbey. He hadn't wanted to do that. There had been an instant bond between him and the baby, the two Bransons, and Tom had never wanted to leave the child behind.

Edith had found Tim Drewe to be a trustworthy sort of man and had concocted a plan whereby the Drewes took in Caroline. She told them that the child was the baby of a friend her parents disapproved of. In return, Edith provided them money to care for Caroline.

"So she doesn't know that you're her mother?" Charles asked.

"She thinks I'm her godmother," Edith replied. "I named her once we returned to England. I applied for British citizenship on her behalf. And then I gave her away again." Edith began crying.

"Does anyone but Rosamund know?" Charles asked.

"Granny knew."

Tom stepped on the brakes. He and Charles looked at each other over Edith's head, incredulous.

# # #

At the house, Edith dried her eyes and went inside. Tom and Charles stayed back by the garage for a few extra minutes, conferring.

"Jesus," Tom sighed.

"I know," Charles replied. "It's sad, but I can understand. She'd be ruined. Child born out of wedlock."

"Father's been missing for years. They did the paperwork to declare him dead in 1930."

Charles nodded. "Yes, I remember. Hasn't she got a good portion according to the will?"

Tom nodded. "A third to Edith, then some to family of his."

"Do you suppose Caroline has inherited anything?"

"I assume that was part of the legal declaration," Tom said. "So that Edith could pass on some to Caroline. Good God, what a tangle. I wonder if the girl's birth record even says that Edith is the mother. And still, we don't know if she intends to do more than be the child's 'godmother.'"

Charles shakes his head. "I don't know if I can keep something like this from Mary."

"Would it do any good to tell her?"

Charles ran frustrated fingers through his hair. "I don't suppose so. But...Even Cora doesn't know! Imagine not knowing that a grandchild is living on the same estate. Yet Violet knew!"

Tom agreed. That, too, was still incomprehensible. Then again, the Dowager Countess had been a tricky sort of soul. "Still, it would bring Edith's shame and misery to the fore. That's not something we can decide."

Charles sighed."No, you're right. It's not. Stay for dinner?"

Tom shook his head. "It's end of term, remember? Sybbie and I have our ritual for end of term."

Charles grinned, nodded, and then went up to the house. Tom turned to walk home.

# # #

Sybbie presented her report card to Tom with a flourish. Da looked over the report card, whistled, and then ruffled her hair.

"Great job, love," Da said with a tight hug. "Shall we commence our ritual?"

Sybbie nodded. At the end of each term of school, Sybbie handed Da her report card. Since Da never frowned over her grades, even the less-than-perfect ones, instead just reminding her gently to work hard on them next term, they always had their ritual. First, they would get dressed up and go out to eat, a rarity. They almost always ate at home with Ivy cooking for them or up at Downton with the family. But last term day, Da would take Sybbie out to the Bates' inn and they would tuck in to a meal and then come home and eats lots of chocolate chip cookies.

Tom changed and then they bundled up into their coats, hats, and scarves and walked to The Climbing Vine, the Bates' inn and restaurant. Anna greeted them and sat them close to the fire.

"How are you?"Anna gushed over Sybbie. "I haven't seen you for ages! How is school going?"

"Glowing grades, as always," Tom bragged.

Sybbie nodded. "It's okay. I have to do a project next term. A family tree project."

"Oh, that sounds interesting," Anna said.

"Guess I have to write to Gran!" Sybbie said, referring to Tom's mother. "She might know all that stuff, right, Da?"

"I'm sure she does," Tom replied.

"Well, just so you know," Anna said, "we've got a really lovely roast joint tonight as well as an herb-crusted pork chop." She grinned. "The best of Downton pork."

# # #

In Downton Abbey, after dinner, Charles unbuttoned the back of Mary's dress.

"I wonder if Edith's feeling all right?" Mary said. "Mama said she hoped she hadn't caught cold from being out all day. It really was rather frigid today. George came back and his ears were bright red."

Edith had pleaded a headache and taken a tray in her room.

"I'm sure it's just a headache," Charles said. "I do hope our little angel will behave tomorrow in the pageant."

Mary laughed. "We needn't worry about Charlotte. It's when Ruthie gets her part in the Christmas play that we'll need to be concerned."

Charles laughed.


End file.
